


Casual Observations on Serinus Canaria

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Community: intoabar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: “Oh!” Jared says. “Hi. Hello.” He summons a smile and waves a hand in the direction of the stage. “You were amazing up there. But I’m sure you already know that.”The Canary seems amused by this geyser of barely coherent babble, canting her head while one corner of her mouth turns up.“Thanks,” she says, and then dips her chin to indicate Jared’s soaked-through shirt. “I think I owe you a drink.”“What? This?” Jared glances down at the stain, hot pink and still half damp, and shakes his head before smiling up at her again. “No, it was my fault. It’s the least I deserve for failing to be appropriately wary of the perils of faulty glassware.”The Canary snorts and arches an eyebrow. “Please,” she says. “I insist.”(Written as part of the May 2020 round of Into A Bar, for the prompt: "Jared Dunn walks into a bar and meets... Dinah Lance (Birds of Prey)!")
Relationships: Jared Dunn & Dinah Lance
Kudos: 3





	Casual Observations on Serinus Canaria

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely just a bit of silliness that I threw together for the delightful [**intoabar**]() challenge over on Dreamwidth.
> 
> It's wonderfully cracky and fun, if crossing over unexpected fandoms is your sort of entertainment.
> 
> Not beta-read, so all mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Jared doesn’t realize he’s wandered into one of Roman Sionis’s clubs until the throbbing dance tune pumping over the speaker system fades out and the pulsing multicolored lights brighten to a lush, tasteful gold. A young woman in a blue, floor-length gown with a back cut so low he’s half-convinced she can’t be wearing any undergarments underneath it takes to the stage and recognition sparks something in the back of Jared’s mind. 

For a split second, a sharp thrill of vindication surges through him. Gavin Belson has always _loathed_ that Sionis’s reach extends into Gotham City’s multi-billion dollar Silicon District, which is supposed to be solidly Mr. Belson’s purview, and ending the evening bellied up to Mr. Sionis’s bar is a fitting insult to tack onto the injury Jared inflicted when he quit his job on the spot a few short hours before. Not that Mr. Belson is liable to notice, considering the fact that he couldn’t even be bothered to learn Jared’s actual name despite working with him for years.

He snaps back into himself as his thoughts chug through the sweet haze of peach schnapps and fruit juice just enough to process that if this spot belongs to Sionis, the woman must be the infamous Canary. Jared has never seen the Canary in person before, but everybody knows about her—the voice that ensorcelled one of the most powerful men in all of Gotham. 

Or the body, if you’re keen to believe the cruder gossip, though Jared has always done his best to ignore that sort of talk, not finding it particularly enlightening. Mr. Belson always had a snide aside prepared with regards to the Canary whenever Mr. Sionis came up in conversation, though Jared gathered that had more to do with the fact that she had once turned Mr. Belson down for a weekend jaunt to Kauai than out of any real disapproval of Mr. Sionis’s taste in the matter. 

Flattering as the rampant rumor of the Canary’s beauty has been, Jared considers, watching the shifting light trace the contours of her face and glitter off the beads and jewels woven through her hair, it hardly does her credit.

The bright chatter suffusing the chic little room fades and settles under the steady clicking of the Canary’s heels as she positions herself behind the standing microphone. She adjusts it and then stills for a second, staring at the ground. There’s a sorrowful twist to her mouth, her hooded eyes dark and somber, but her loveliness is apparent even so. She drums her fingers once against the microphone stand and takes a breath, then tosses her hair over her shoulder, raises her head, and starts to sing.

She performs without accompaniment, Jared notes, not that she needs it. The entire audience, including Jared himself, is enraptured by every swooping dip and swelling rise of the melody she threads through the air, swaying in time with the beat she weaves like cobras at the end of a flute. Jared has never heard the song before, not that he’s very up on modern music. It could be an original composition, for all he knows, but either way it makes his heart clench hard in his chest and the corners of his eyes prickle.

He has the vague notion that he ought to reach up and swipe at his face, preserve what little dignity he has left, now that he’s willfully unemployed, but he’s far from the only one so affected by the melancholy tune. The Canary’s voice crescendos, ringing on an extended note that’s high and clear and sweet like a crystalline bell. The half-empty cocktail glass on the bar in front of Jared rattles and splits with a sharp crack a half-second before it shatters, showering Jared’s rumpled button-down with the fruit-sweet mixings of an expertly crafted Sex on the Beach that he paid too much for.

One of the bottles behind the bar suffers a similar fate, but the enthusiastic string of invective this tragedy inspires in the bartender is muffled by the whistling and hollering of the audience as the Canary’s song hums to a close. Jared finds himself clapping along, even as he drips a puddle onto the plush carpeting below.

The Canary accepts the praise with grace, dipping her head and smiling, small and close-mouthed, and then starts up into a new song with a more lighthearted swing to it.

“Hey, man,” someone says behind him, and Jared turns to find the bartender proffering a clean white hand towel.

“Oh!” Jared grins, despite the wet tracks on his cheeks. “Thank you!” He takes it and dries himself off as best as he’s able, while the bartender scoops the mess of glass and liquor out of the way. Jared is still a little damp and there’s a ruinous pink stain soaked from his sternum to his waist, but it’s better than it was. He pats surreptitiously at his face before handing the towel back over.

The bartender accepts it with a grunt and arches an eyebrow. “Get you another?”

Jared glances back to the stage, where the Canary is working her way through a swift, snappy bridge that keeps catching on a series of trilling high notes, and says, “Um, just water, for now.”

It’s probably not a bad idea to hydrate some, and despite the hefty price tag on cocktails, even Sionis serves water in disposable plastic cups. Jared feels vaguely ridiculous nursing the beverage, dwarfed by his big hands and long fingers, throughout the remainder of the Canary’s set, but nobody looks at him twice except for the bartender, who can’t be thrilled that he’s missing out on tips.

Jared closes his eyes and bobs his head along with the final chorus of the Canary’s last song and cheers as loud as anyone when she excuses herself from the stage with a half-bow and a simple, “Thank you.”

“Wow,” Jared breathes, swiveling around in his school and shaking his head. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

The bartender, as it turns out, has wandered to the other end of the bar to serve a set of party girls in short, glamorous sequined minidresses with a cascading rainbow of pastel hair colors between them. Jared doesn’t mind. He didn’t come here for the company, after all, though he isn’t alone for long.

A presence levers itself onto the stool next to him and Jared glances over and blinks in surprise when he recognizes the Canary watching him cooly from a foot away, hand in her chin and elbow posted up against the bartop.

“Oh!” Jared says. “Hi. Hello.” He summons a smile and waves a hand in the direction of the stage. “You were amazing up there. But I’m sure you already know that.”

The Canary seems amused by this geyser of barely coherent babble, canting her head while one corner of her mouth turns up.

“Thanks,” she says, and then dips her chin to indicate Jared’s soaked-through shirt. “I think I owe you a drink.”

“What? This?” Jared glances down at the stain, hot pink and still half damp, and shakes his head before smiling up at her again. “No, it was my fault. It’s the least I deserve for failing to be appropriately wary of the perils of faulty glassware.”

The Canary snorts and arches an eyebrow. “Please,” she says. “I insist.”

She turns away from Jared before he can protest, raising her hand and beckoning the bartender over. He doesn’t look too pleased to abandon the giggling gaggle of party girls but he comes right away. The Canary leans on her elbows and says, “Marcus. Whiskey for me, two fingers, neat, and whatever this guy’s having.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder to where Jared is sitting beside her with his hands curled politely over the edge of the bar.

“Sure thing,” the bartender—Marcus—replies, making it very clear from his tone that he’s only barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “One Jack Daniels and a Sex on the Beach, coming right up.”

The Canary’s eyebrows leap toward her hair and she turns to grin at Jared. “Sex on the Beach?”

Jared shrugs. “I’m partial to summery fruit blends.”

The Canary nods, as though this makes perfect sense, and offers him her hand. “Dinah Lance.”

Jared shakes it, firm and quick but careful. He feels vaguely woozy, like that time he’d crossed paths with Tom Selleck while waiting on an Uber during a convention weekend in downtown Los Angeles. That iconic mustache had been even more remarkable in person. “Jared - or. _Donald_ Dunn, really, but everybody calls me Jared.”

“Middle name?” Dinah asks.

Jared laughs and shakes his head. “No, no. Not at all.”

She blinks when Jared doesn’t expound on that information, but moves past it with admirable poise. “What brings you out tonight, Jared?” As if on cue, Marcus slides both their drinks in front of them and Dinah dips her chin toward Jared’s glass, replete with a tiny paper umbrella sticking out the top. “Celebrating something?”

“Oh, um.” Jared considers this for a moment. “I guess so, in a - manner of speaking.” He grins at her and bobs his head. “I quit my job today.”

“Wow!” Dinah says. “That’s...exciting.”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees, thin and gusty like a sigh. “It was kind of a spur of the moment decision, but I think ultimately it was the right choice. As they say, courage is, in many ways, its own reward.”

“Right.” Dinah swirls her glass around, whiskey bobbing smoothly from side to side, and squints. “Any particular reason, or?” She lets the question linger on the air, spinning like a note at the perfect vibrato, and Jared shifts in his seat.

He shakes his head, grabbing the striped straw sticking up out of his glass and stirring its contents a little. “It probably won’t make much sense.”

“Jared,” Dinah says, leaning in and resting her hand over top of Jared’s own while she makes long, meaningful eye contact, “I work for Roman Sionis. Trust me when I say that there are very few reasons you could give for leaving your job that wouldn’t make sense to me.”

“Right,” Jared grins. “Of course. I, um.” He shakes his head, brow furrowing over a smile that feels more like a grimace where it sticks on Jared’s teeth. “I watched a man turn down ten million dollars, today.”

“Seriously?” Dinah looks just as stunned as Jared had felt, gaping over Gavin Belson’s shoulder while Richard Hendricks had set his narrow shoulders and steeled those beautiful blue eyes and effectively told the biggest name in the tech industry to eat it, if in much more polite terms.

“Seriously,” Jared confirms. “He just thought about it for a second and then shook his head and said ‘thanks but no thanks.’” Jared’s eyes are wide and mystified while he shakes his head again. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been at Hooli for almost a decade.”

“Hooli?” Dinah echoes, a gleeful gleam twinkling to life in the corner of her eye. “You mean you worked for that prick Gavin Belson?”

“I did,” Jared agrees, bobbing another nod. “He named me Jared, actually.”

“He _named_ you?” Dinah looks unaccountably disturbed by this knowledge, so Jared backpedals.

“In a manner of speaking,” he corrects. “There wasn’t any kind of ceremony, or anything. He just got it into his head on my first day that my name was Jared and it seemed easier to petition the court for a legal change than to have to go through all the paperwork again.”

“Wow.” Dinah nods, slow and absent like she’s not really aware she’s doing it, then blinks and shakes her head, lifting her glass. “Well, I guess, cheers to not working for Gavin fucking Belson anymore.”

“Cheers,” Jared grins, and merrily bumps their drinks together. They indulge in silence for a moment, Dinah taking a sip of her whiskey and then spending a few long seconds staring into its depths.

“What do you think you’ll do, now that you’re not under that prick’s thumb anymore?” Her voice is quiet, almost wistful, and she doesn’t look at Jared as she asks.

Jared hums, considering, and admits, “I think I want to track him down.” He glances over, but Dinah is still lost somewhere in her own thoughts, so he settles for peering at the side of her face rather than making proper eye contact as he explains, “Richard, the guy who turned the money down. If he’s planning to try and go it solo in this industry, I figure he could use someone with experience in business administration to give him a leg up on the competition.”

Dinah smirks at this, nodding like it makes total sense. Jared is surprised to discover that her approval settles a small frisson of anxiety that’s been shivering through him on and off all afternoon, with varying levels of severity.

“That sounds nice,” Dinah says. She sounds like she means it.

“Not as glamorous as performing in renowned venues across the city,” Jared demurs, “but it suits me. It’s like my foster mother always said: ‘be realistic about your skills, Donald. Talent is for the beautiful people.’”

Dinah arches an eyebrow, finally looking over at him. “Your foster mom really said that to you?”

“Oh, sure!” Jared confirms. “She always had some little pearl of wisdom to share, no matter the situation.” He takes another sip of his Sex on the Beach and grins, “If she could only see me now, rubbing elbows with Gotham’s elite.”

“I don’t know about all that,” Dinah snorts. She knocks back a good half her glass of whiskey, nose wrinkling and mouth pursing. “Life of a songbird ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

She’s staring into the middle distance again, eyes dark and glassy with some far-off sorrow.

Jared gives her a moment, politely taking stock out of the corner of his eye as her shoulders slowly climb higher, drawing in tight around her. It’s a stress response he’s seen often enough throughout his life—on kids in the various foster homes he slipped through, on himself, at times—to guess that a little levity likely won’t go amiss to defuse the tension.

“Did you know that only male canaries sing?” Dinah doesn’t move, so Jared continues, “Not to make any inferences, of course, but it’s a well-documented fact of biological science that testosterone is responsible for the musical acumen of the domesticated canary.”

He doesn’t think it worked, the statement hovering there between them for a long second before Dinah snorts and raises her hand to her mouth, covering a laugh. She turns to look at him, and Jared shrugs. “I’m something of an amateur birder,” he confesses, and Dinah succumbs to a fit of giggles that make her seem younger than Jared suspects her cool personality would normally allow.

“You don’t say.”

“It’s a difficult hobby to keep up with in a place as metropolitan as Gotham, but I get out to Robinson Park on weekends to see if I can spot any interesting or unexpected species.”

Dinah arches an eyebrow. “Find anything good so far?”

Jared puts his head to one side, thinks on it for a second. “Well,” he says slowly, risking a grin, “I’ve just discovered that the female canary makes for an excellent conversational partner when one wanders into a bar to agonize over a rash decision that’s recently upended their entire life.”

Dinah smiles and ducks her head, face flushing with pleasure. “That’s one for the books,” she says.

Jared can’t help but agree. “The scientific community won’t know what hit it.”

Dinah laughs again and the little ember of pride that Jared had managed to secret out with him through every last humiliating hoop that Hooli made him jump through to terminate his employment sparks and catches light. He’ll finish up here and then hunt Richard down and offer his services. Maybe pick something up on the way, as a sort of congratulations celebrating the whole Pied Piper endeavor.

“Tell me,” Jared says, “do you think showing up unannounced on someone’s doorstep is made more or less gauche if you come bearing gifts?”

Dinah lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on the gift, I guess. And the doorstep.”

“There are quite a few variables at play on this one,” Jared admits.

Dinah narrows her eyes, considering him. After a moment, she snaps, leaning up on her hands as she hollers for the bartender, who has meandered back down to the cluster of tipsily swaying coeds at the other end of the bar.

“Marcus! Get a bottle of bubbly for the ornithologist over here.” She jerks her thumb at Jared, who flushes with surprised delight.

“Oh! You really don’t have to - ”

“My treat,” Dinah says, turning to smile over her shoulder at him. She settles back onto her stool while Marcus grumbles his way into some kitchen or storage area back behind the bar. “Lord knows it’s hard to find hope in a place like Gotham. Gotta hold onto it when you can find it, and if a little champagne will help, it’s the least I can do.”

Jared is too bowled over by this stunning generosity to do much more than stammer his thanks and tip back half the remaining Sex on the Beach, which has soaked through the small napkin it was delivered on and has been sweating rings into the rich, dark wood of the bar for the better part of ten minutes.

“Just promise me one thing,” Dinah says, and Jared looks over at her.

He nods, mustering all the sobriety he can as he promises, “Anything.”

Dinah grins, sly like they're sharing a secret, and reaches out to flick at one of the buttons on his abdomen, just over the stain. “Go home and change first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
